The Problem
by SChimes
Summary: [Post - "Zoo Story" tag.] Sharon already had a lot on her plate, and then she had to find out about 'the other Sharon's latest misdeeds. A couple of missing scenes, leading up to the confrontation with Sharon Beck at the end.


**The Problem**

It had been at the back of her mind all day. Rusty coming to the murder room. Talking to Lt. Provenza. Every second that she hadn't spent thinking about how to safely get back the missing young officer, she'd spent wondering about that. Wondering and worrying.

She hadn't even seen him, when he'd come. But the Major Crimes area wasn't that large a space, and Buzz had spotted him in the break room with the lieutenant and mentioned something in passing, and from that moment on Sharon had wondered.

Why Lt. Provenza? Certainly, there were things that Rusty felt the lieutenant would be more qualified to help with, yes – such as knotting a tie, or getting out of a commitment. A variety of small innocuous issues that were not worthy of alarm… but lately, there had also been _one_ issue in particular that Rusty kept taking to Lt. Provenza instead of her, in a misguided attempt to not burden her with his problems, and Sharon _dearly_ hoped that that wasn't what was going on here.

But the worry, she couldn't help.

She'd asked Lt. Provenza about it. Briefly, conversationally almost, as they'd gone back up in the elevator from the morgue. That hadn't quite been the time or place to do it, not with Julio and Commander McGinnis there as well, the latter tense like a caged tiger ready to spring. But in those few seconds, precious few seconds of that elevator ride, Sharon had crossed her arms and caught the lieutenant's eye and asked vaguely,

"Rusty was here talking to you…?"

Julio's eyes had flickered to the two of them, before he'd shifted slightly and fixed a determined gaze on the elevator panel. The commander had been less accommodating, her keen scowl going from one to the other, but there was nothing to be done about it. Sharon had wanted her answer anyway.

The look that Provenza had given her had been neither alarming nor reassuring. He'd cleared his throat and said, "Ah. Yes. Yes, he …wanted some information. Don't worry Captain," he'd put up a hand, and nodded, "I will take care of it … and as soon as there's anything for you to know, I assure you –" his eyebrows had arched in a solemn expression, " – you will."

The doors had dinged open then, and that had had to be the end of the discussion. Sharon's brow had creased, her concerns not allayed at all, quite the opposite in fact… but the case had been pressing, urgent, and there had been barely any second to spare to even just think about it more.

Maybe if she had, she'd have been more prepared.

Things had gotten better, for their case. They'd found Officer Sherman – uninjured for the most part, too, a happier ending than many such cases, and a reason for joy. Cmdr. McGinnis had accompanied her to the hospital, while the rest of SOB had helped Major Crimes rescue several other young girls from that border-bound transport. The FBI had taken over the trafficking and all the ensuing paperwork from the case. Sharon had coached Amy on how to properly work with FID.

Overall, she'd felt satisfied, that the young officer was safe, that everything had worked out well, she'd felt _good_.

Right up until Andy had waylaid her on the way back to her office, his expression grim. "There's something you need to see," he'd told her without preamble, and the low tone of his voice had been warning enough that it wasn't good news.

"What's wrong?"

He'd put a hand on her elbow, guiding her gently. "Provenza and Buzz are waiting in electronics."

Sharon had known, then.

She'd shaken her head, and met his eyes, her lips pressed into a grim expression of her own. "It's Rusty's mother, again, isn't it."

Andy hadn't even spoken anything in return. He'd mirrored her headshake. Disapproval evident in his eyes, in the tense set of his jaw.

"What happened?"

"Caught shoplifting," he'd provided succinctly. "Been locked up in county for a week."

Her eyes had closed briefly. "Oh, God…" Not in surprise. This had been a foregone conclusion, almost. But the sorrow she felt was no less, for that. "I should've put a flag on her name," she'd breathed, "requested county to inform me if she got arrested…" She'd already made that request of the Coroner's office. Just another small fear to live with every day.

"You couldn't have done anything anyway," Andy had pointed out.

"I could've found out before Rusty. Been there…" Her voice had failed her. She'd shaken her head again. "How bad is it?"

They'd reached electronics by then. Andy had wordlessly held the door open for her, and from behind the desk Lt. Provenza had raised his eyes to hers, his expression wry.

* * *

They wanted her to watch the recording of Rusty's visit with his mother.

It must have been – bad. God, if Buzz had selected 'the really awful part' of their visit, and if they all wanted her to _watch_ it, which was uncomfortably close to violating Rusty's privacy, then it must've been seriously bad.

The video started on the screens before she had a chance to ask any more questions.

Not that they could've said anything to prepare her for what she was about to see.

* * *

She'd steeled herself as well as she could, in the few seconds after Sharon Beck's voice had come on. In all honesty she'd thought that she'd guessed what was coming just from the sugary, crafted tone, so careful, so deceptively innocuous in its purposefulness. How many times had Sharon heard that tone before? It was the 'this is all a big misunderstanding' tone, the 'you're the only one who can set things right here' tone. The one that spoke promises and love, and wove a web of sweet lies around a very, very bitter truth. Sharon had long ago learned to recognize that tone, and she was well-practiced at the task. It filled her with sorrow, now, to see that Rusty was, too. She could hear it in his own voice. She could read it in the language of his body, in the painful twist of his lips as he watched his mother.

Part of her felt unaccountably intrusive, watching this. But Lt. Provenza and Andy wouldn't have insisted if it wasn't important. So she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes and watched, and braced herself for whatever new wounds Sharon Beck was bound to open in this boy that she barely deserved to call her son.

But she couldn't have braced herself enough for what she heard.

* * *

It took her a second to understand what Rusty's mother had just said.

A second, for the words to actually filter properly, because at first they made no sense, because every _fiber_ of her being just refused to process an atrocity of that magnitude. But the meaning had sunk in whether she wanted it or not – and with that an icy, gripping hollow that spread through her chest.

Oh God.

Though Sharon had resolved to keep her reactions in check, her eyes had widened, her arms imperceptibly tightened around herself as she felt the full horror of what she'd just witnessed.

Oh God.

Oh God…

Her eyes had followed Sharon Beck until then, but from that moment she couldn't look away from Rusty, from his expression – the way his shoulders had tensed, his body hunched defensively, the way his hands half-pushed the receiver away, shaking, oh _God_, how was this – _how_ was this even _possible_, what kind of person, what kind of mother, what kind of _human being_ –

Sharon breathed out, pressing her trembling fingers harder against her arms. Her entire body felt frozen in place, her eyes the only part that could move, and they searched desperately on that screen for some answer, for some way to _help_…but all she saw was Rusty's unhappy figure, and the catastrophe that she hadn't been there to stop.

"Alright... alright Buzz, that's enough."

"Leave it," said Sharon.

Her voice sounded hollow, strange to her own ears. She was surprised that it even worked anymore.

"Leave it," she repeated.

"Captain, I understand, but the rest of it's just the same old junk, you don't need to –"

But she held up a hand to stop Lt. Provenza's kind words. Her eyes were still glued to the screen. "I want to hear all of it."

They fell quiet, after that.

Sharon forced herself to listen to every word.

* * *

Less than two hours later, she was walking through the heavy metal door that led to the LA county jail visiting area.

"Thirty minutes, Ma'am," the guard reminded her. "Anything over, and we have to run it through the Watch Commander first."

Sharon dipped her head in silent acknowledgment, and followed his directions down the grey corridor.

She didn't need thirty minutes. For what she was here to do, she wouldn't need five. And she certainly had no intention of spending one second longer than necessary on this. This, this was something to be settled, something to be wrapped up cleanly, briefly; it wasn't where she needed nor wanted to be, now.

But before she could go home, this _had_ to be done.

A sign on the wall pointed to a set of metal-and-glass doors on the right. 'Inmate Visiting Area.' Below, in smaller font, was a brief notice. 'All visits subject to monitoring and recording'.

Rusty wouldn't have carefully read that sign, on his way in.

The memory suddenly echoed in her mind, startling in its clarity. _Do you still do that work you did on the side?_

Sharon slowed down her footsteps, earning herself a few extra seconds before walking into the visiting area. She took a deep breath, and allowed her eyes to close briefly.

She'd reined in her anger, her rage, her bitterness, all of it wrapped neatly and pushed below the surface, underneath a veneer of composure. Oh, she'd have had much to say. But none of it would change anything, and she wasn't here to make herself feel better by shouting angry recriminations.

For what she was here to do, composure would serve her best, and so it was composure that she armored herself in. And she was confident that it would hold. She could go through this necessary conversation without a crack in her façade; that, too, she was well-practiced at.

It still took all that practice to maintain the even measure of her steps as she sets eyes on the familiar, blue-clad figure behind the glass.

With sobering honesty, Sharon told herself that it was a good thing that the county jail required her to check her weapon at the entrance.

She took the last few steps to the rickety visitor's chair and, sitting down with calculated casualness, she looked into Sharon Beck's smiling face, and proceeded to battle.

* * *

**That scene between the two Sharons was both profoundly cathartic and profoundly terrifying :P. Note to self: never make Sharon mad like that. (hmm, so maybe I should stop tormenting her in all of my stories? Yes? ...No). **

**I guess as long as I manage not to ask her children to turn tricks for my bail money, things should be all good. That scene, though. *awe***

**Thank you all for reading :). **


End file.
